


The Couples Costume

by thepopeisdope



Series: Geeks and Freaks [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Comic-Con, Cosplay, Demisexual Castiel, Established Relationship, Explicit Sexual Content, Fluff, Human Castiel, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-28
Updated: 2015-08-13
Packaged: 2018-04-11 15:40:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 13,617
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4441589
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thepopeisdope/pseuds/thepopeisdope
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They start <i>Angel</i> as soon as <i>Buffy</i> is finished, on Cas’s insistence. Dean would still prefer to watch <i>Star Trek</i>, but he knows it can wait.</p>
<p>Half a season in, someone knocks on the bunker door.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

It takes Dean and Cas almost three weeks to watch all of _Buffy the Vampire Slayer_ , and in Dean’s opinion, it was time well spent.

That wasn’t an accurate timeline of how anyone else may have watched the series, though, not by any means. Some days they watched far more episodes than was probably healthy in a single sitting—Cas is a bit obsessive live that, and he _had to know what’s next, Dean, it’s very important_ —and other times they were cut short or had to re-watch an episode or two— _that_ was primarily Dean’s doing.

But it isn’t _his_ fault that Cas had damn-near irresistible lips and skin. He’s only human, after all. He can hardly be blamed for giving in to his baser urges.

Sam walked in on them more than a few times, which made him extra bitchy, of course. But Dean knows that, despite the front he puts on, Sam is almost as thrilled by the development as Dean and Cas themselves are.

They didn’t actually tell Sam about their relationship for over a week after his eventual return from Jody’s, on Dean’s insistence, because really, how often does that kind of situation present itself? Even before they officially got together they were rarely outside of each other’s orbit, but after, it got a whole lot worse. They touched whenever they could, whether they were stationary or otherwise, and had only to sit back and watch as Sam slowly descended into madness while trying to figure out _what the actual fuck_ was going on.

By the time Sam cracked, even Cas was enjoying their game. Any time Sam was in their vicinity, Cas would deliberately run a hand across Dean’s back, or make a borderline lewd comment, all with the utmost feigned obliviousness. Dean almost gave them away himself by laughing on more than one occasion.

In the end, they slipped up and allowed Sam to catch them leaving Dean’s room together one morning, and just like that, the cat was out of the bag. He wasn’t pleased to know that they hadn’t told him instantly, but he damn near cried from how happy he was for them.

Not happy enough for them to be unfazed by walking in on a blowjob, though. But whatever. It’s a work in progress.

Cas himself is also a work in progress. In the month that they’ve been a ‘thing’, they have yet to get past third base—not that Dean minds, of course.

As long as Cas is happy, Dean is happy.

They start _Angel_ as soon as _Buffy_ is finished, on Cas’s insistence. Dean would still prefer to watch _Star Trek_ , but he knows it can wait.

Half a season in, someone knocks on the bunker door.

Dean and Cas eye each other warily, silently weighing their options. They could get up and answer the door, _but_ , their next episode is just beginning, and if _Sam_ does it…

Dean leans back on the couch and cups his hands around his mouth. “HEY SAMMY.”

Cas chuckles and copies his movements. “SAM,” he shouts. “THERE’S SOMEONE AT THE DOOR.”

When Sam pokes his head into the sitting room on his way past from his bedroom, he finds Dean and Cas leaning into each other on the couch, giggling like maniacs. “You fuckers couldn’t get the door yourselves?” he asks, giving them a bitchface to rival them all.

Dean grins at him, wiping moisture from his eye. “You’re already up, we weren’t.” When Sam’s glare intensifies and Cas presses his face into Dean’s side to muffle his laughter, Dean gestures at the TV and adds, “Besides, we have very important things to do right now.”

“I wasn’t _up_ either before you called, jerk.”

Cas sits up suddenly and schools his features. “Our apologies, Sam.” There’s another knock at the door, more persistent this time. Cas smiles. “Perhaps you should get that.”

Dean’s laughing too hard to watch Sam leave the room.

~

Charlie bursts into the sitting room less than a minute later, a very confused Sam in tow, and says, “Alright, team, we’ve got work to do.”

Dean sighs from his position draped across Cas’s lap and pauses their show. “Hey Charlie, always nice to see you. We’re doing fine, thanks for asking. Now, what can we do for you?”

Charlie places her hands on her hips and rolls her eyes. “I was going to get there eventually.” She pauses. “Probably. Anyway, do any of you know what today is?”

“Tuesday?” Cas replies.

Charlie looks to Sam with barely-concealed horror. “Holy smokes, Batman, you weren’t joking.”

“I told you,” Sam grumbles, glaring at the couple on the couch.

Dean quirks an eyebrow. “And what exactly did you tell her, Sammy?”

“He told me that you two finally, and I’m quoting here, ‘pulled your heads out of your asses and got together’,” Charlie answers flippantly. She points a finger at Sam. “You owe me fifty bucks, by the way.” She turns back to Dean and Cas. “He _also_ told me that, in the glory of your honeymoon phase, the two of you practically Vulcan mind-melded and became some freaky hybrid of both your personalities.”

Cas’s brow furrows and he peers down at Dean. “Honeymoon stage?” he repeats.

Dean smiles at Cas, but rolls his eyes at the phrase. “It means we’re extra happy because we just started our relationship. Supposedly, the honeymoon stage eventually dries up, when the people involved are no longer fascinated by how shiny and new everything is.”

“Oh.” Cas meets Charlie’s eyes. “We are not in the ‘honeymoon stage’, as you put it.”

For a moment Charlie is too visibly shocked to speak, but when she recovers, she raises a single finger on her right hand. “Okay, _one_ , that’s _really_ the part you latched onto here? Not the part where you’re becoming the same _person_?” Dean and Cas only shrug, in sync. Charlie watches them incredulously and raises a second finger. “ _Two_ , how is this _not_ the honeymoon stage?”

Dean shifts on the couch and rotates to better see Cas’s face from where his head is pillowed on Cas’s thigh. Cas drops a hand to the top of Dean’s head, threading his fingers through the strands of hair there and scratching lightly at his scalp. They stare into each other’s eyes for several seconds—which makes Charlie and Sam exchange an uneasy look—before Dean raises an eyebrow and Cas nods almost imperceptibly.

“This isn’t a honeymoon stage,” Dean finally replies, rotating again to glance between his friend and his brother, “Because our relationship isn’t _new_. This has been growing since we met. The only difference now is that we’re _acknowledging_ it.”

“And the sex,” Cas adds, deadpan.

Charlie snorts.

“And the sex,” Dean parrots.

Sam groans and rubs a hand across his face.

Charlie’s whole composition changes and she grins at Dean and Cas. “Look at you two, all grown up,” she says, pretending to wipe a tear from her eye. “But hey, I’ve been shipping this from the _start_ , way back when I first read the Carver Edlund books. And! This might make what I’m about to say even better!”

Cas seems to be about to question the bit about shipping and Chuck’s books, so Dean is quick to ask instead, “What do you need from us, Charlie?”

“We’re going to comic con!”

There’s silence in the room.

Charlie frowns. “Well I’d hoped you’d at least be a _little_ excited,” she pouts.

“Charlie,” Sam says gently, “We can’t go to comic con. We have _work_ to do. We have to _hunt_.”

That earns him a glare. “Don’t you lie to me, Samuel Millen Winchester.” Dean bursts out laughing, and Sam visibly pales. Charlie trudges on: “Things are quiet right now, and they have been for a while. When was the last hunt you even went on? What are you doing here, watching—oh hey, you’re watching Angel?” She turns to Cas, since Dean is still chuckling over her use of Sam’s full name. “Are you watching it at the same time at _Buffy_ or after?”

“After,” Cas replies.

“Ah. Just start?”

“Yes.”

“Just a heads up, season four is _weird_. Gina Torres is in it, though, and she’s a goddess of beauty and happiness, so I guess there’s that.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

“Holy shit,” Sam mutters. “Charlie, can we get back on topic here, please?”

“Right,” she nods. “Sorry. But that only helps my case! You’re binge-watching old TV shows! You may as well come to comic con with me. It’s not the San Diego one or anything—it’s much lower key. You’ll be fine.”

Dean purses his lips. “I’m in.” Charlie squeals and Dean silences her with a raised hand. “But I have to ask—how in the ever-loving _fuck_ did you know Sam’s middle name? I know he didn’t _tell_ you what it is.”

Charlie has the decency to look sheepish. “I, uh, may have gone snooping through your files in the government’s database? And… I may have also cleared your records and made you un-legally dead.”

Dean leaps to his feet and crosses the room to get to Charlie, ignoring Cas’s surprised, “You’re legally dead?” and grabbing her by her shoulders, hard enough for his fingers to probably leave bruises.

“Charlie,” he says slowly, watching her expression carefully, “Did you just say that Sam and I _aren’t legally dead anymore_?”

Charlie swallows. “Um… yes? Or I guess, no. Not dead, legally or otherwise.”

Dean pulls her into a crushing hug. “Why the hell didn’t you _open_ with that, kiddo?” he says with a laugh.

Charlie chuckles slightly, snaking her arms around Dean’s waist to return the hug. “Does it make you happy enough to do something else for me?”

“Name it.”

“You have to go in costume.”

“Done.”

Sam groans again. “Damn it, Dean.”

~

It turns out that Charlie is no stranger to costume making, but really, Dean never doubted her—he had seen her operation in Moondoor, after all. Her own costume is already prepared, carefully packed in a bag in her car, but she came to the bunker prepared to fashion something for the rest of them.

The number of plastic totes and bags she somehow managed to cram into her Gremlin is astonishing. Dean whistles lowly when they first pop the back hatch, but by the time they’re carrying the last of the materials into the bunker to deposit on the library table, Dean is less impressed and more considering the involvement of witchcraft.

He reminds himself to have a talk with her on the subject later.

Charlie switches into action immediately, spreading out a few choice materials and flipping open her laptop to open references and ideas. “Dean, Cas, since you guys are a ‘thing’ now, I was thinking a couple’s costume. Thoughts?”

Cas gives Dean a wary look. “What would these costumes entail?” he asks.

Charlie shrugs. “They don’t have to be overly extravagant, if that’s what you mean. As for the couple bit, that just means you’ll have the same theme.” She looks them both over and her lips stretch into a predatory grin. “Do I sense a genderbent Buffy and Angel cosplay coming on?”

Dean snorts. “Absolutely not. I am _not_ wearing leather pants.”

Sam, who has been moping in a lounge chair for several minutes now, perks up at that. “Charlie, I’ll triple the money I owe you if you dress him up like Buffy Summers,” he says.

Cas turns to Dean and looks at him appraisingly. “I think you would look quite good in leather pants, Dean.”

“Ew.” Sam wrinkles his nose. “Never mind. They don’t need any more encouragement. Next idea.”

Charlie rolls her eyes at their antics and looks at her pre-written list of ideas. She considers for a moment, then says, “How about Batman and Robin?”

“Tempting,” Dean says, imagining how hot Cas would look in a skin-tight red suit—because there’s no way _Dean_ would be Robin, that’s for sure. “How long are we going to be wearing these costumes, though?”

“It’s a three day convention,” Charlie answers. “About ten hours a day.”

And there’s the other shoe dropping. Dean grimaces at the thought of spending that much time with his face covered. “Any other ideas?”

“Is it the facemask?” she asks.

“They sound miserable.”

Charlie nods. “What about… Derek Zoolander and Mugatu?”

Sam and Dean both laugh, but Cas frowns. “I don’t know that reference.”

Charlie looks affronted. “You’ve never seen _Zoolander_!?” She directs a glare at Dean. “You failed me today, Winchester.”

Dean does his best to look apologetic. “Next idea?”

“I can do Kirk and Spock?”

Cas begins to deny that one as well, but Dean slaps a hand over his mouth and says, “We’ll do it.”

Charlie nods and makes a note on her laptop before turning to Sam to begin discussing his costume prospects. Cas, meanwhile, looks damn near _offended_ that Dean chose their costumes without his consent.

Dean, sensing a meltdown, takes Cas by the hand and leads him back to the sitting room. He shoves Cas in the direction of the couch and goes about switching the television on, intent on beginning Cas in his journey into _Star Trek_ as quickly as possible.

“Dean.”

Dean steels himself. “Yeah, Cas?”

“I don’t understand why we have to dress as these characters,” Cas says. “I don’t even know who they _are_ , only that they are from a science-fiction program.”

Dean finally joins Cas on the couch and promptly straddles his lap, tangling his fingers in Cas’s silky hair and capturing his lips in a scorching kiss. Cas moans into Dean’s mouth, and his hands latch onto Dean’s waist. When he feels Cas’s erection press against his own, Dean pulls away slightly, just enough to see into Cas’s lust-blown eyes.

“How about,” Dean whispers, pressing a chaste kiss to Cas’s lips, “I suck you off, and we sit in here for the rest of the day and watch _Star Trek_ , angel?” Another kiss, and Dean grinds his hips down in emphasis. He leans forward to mouth at the space behind Cas’s ear, saying between breaths, “That way, you can’t say you don’t understand the reference.”

Cas gasps at both the friction on his cock and the tongue on his neck. “Dean Winchester,” he pants, “You are a monster.”

Dean sits back and grins. “But you love me,” he says, sliding down Cas’s body to kneel between his legs, pulling his jeans and boxers down as he goes.

Cas smiles softly. “I do.”

The sentimental look falls off his face as soon as Dean takes his dick in his mouth.

In the three weeks that they’ve been doing this, Dean has learned a lot about what Cas likes. As such, it takes him no time at all to fall into a perfect rhythm, twisting a a hand around the lower half of Cas’s cock while also alternating between massaging his tongue across the slit and on the underside of the head. He settles his other hand on the warm skin of Cas’s hip, stroking his thumb back and forth reassuringly.

That’s another thing Cas likes: affectionate physical contact.

Cas tugs lightly at Dean’s hair, causing him to groan in pleasure. The sound vibrates down through Cas’s cock, and that’s all it takes for him to go off like a rocket, coming in a warm stream down Dean’s throat.

As soon as he is finished, Cas hauls Dean back up to straddle him on the couch, kissing him passionately and expertly unbuttoning Dean’s jeans.

“Cas,” Dean breaths into his mouth, “You don’t have to do that.”

Cas only smiles. “But I want to.” He then wraps a confident hand around Dean’s dick, thumbing at the precome already leaking from the head to spread it down his length and ease the way.

Dean gasps and arches into Cas’s hand, reveling in the warmth of his touch. Cas jacks him slowly at first, then with more purpose, twisting his wrist every time his movements bring him back to the head, just like Dean likes. Dean is helpless to stop the soft gasps and pleas of Cas’s name that fall from his lips as he writhes on Cas’s lap.

“You’re so beautiful like this,” Cas whispers suddenly, his breath hot in Dean’s ear.

And then Dean is spilling over Cas’s hand with a moan.

They sit for a minute in mutual recovery, their foreheads leaned together and breathing the same air. Eventually, for lack of anything else, Dean takes off his flannel overshirt and uses it to clean the evidence off of himself and Cas, tossing it toward the door when he is done.

Cas works his fingers into the back of Dean’s hair and tugs him into one final kiss. “So,” he says when he pulls back. “Should we begin _Star Trek_ now?”

Dean grins. “Abso-fucking-lutely.”


	2. Chapter 2

When next they emerge from the room—at Sam’s insistence, because apparently they have to _eat_ or some shit—they’ve powered through five episodes, including the pilot. The library table is damn near impossible to see under the mountain of fabrics spread across it, consisting of pieces that Dean can’t even begin to imagine how they will go together to form anything coherent.

Unsurprisingly, Charlie jumps at the chance to interrogate to a new Trekkie. “So, Cas, what do you think of the first few episodes?” she asks, as soon as they tell her what they’ve been doing. “Do you like it?”

Cas looks uncertain. “It is… odd. But I understand now why multiple people have referred to me as ‘Mr. Spock’ over the years.”

Sam chokes on the coffee he is drinking.

Charlie smacks Sam on the arm and smiles warmly at Cas. “It gets better the more you watch.”

Cas doesn’t seem very satisfied with this answer, but he lets it drop. “Sam, have you decided on a costume?” he asks instead.

Sam clears his throat roughly, still trying to recover from his near-death experience. “I have, yeah. Charlie, can you show him what you showed me?”

Charlie turns her laptop toward Cas, whose eyebrows shoot up in surprise. He stares intently at the image on the screen, then at Sam, before nodding. “I suppose I can see it working.”

Alright, now Dean _has_ to know. He slides around the side of the table to peek at the laptop from over Cas’s shoulder.

No fucking way.

No _fucking way_ is _Sam Winchester_ parading around a crowded convention center, _dressed as Thor_.

Dean just isn’t that lucky in life.

Unless…

“Sam, please tell me you still have that hammer.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Dean sees both Cas and Charlie freeze. They both seem to vibrate with barely-contained excitement at the implication, and in that moment, Dean is _ridiculously_ pleased with himself for showing Cas most of the Marvel movies from recent years _first_.

Sam chuckles. “Of course I do, Dean. I wasn’t about to pass up the opportunity of owning _Mjölnir_ , for crying out loud.”

“Please tell me you’re joking,” Charlie says, at the same time Cas asks, “Sam, you can wield Mjölnir?”

Sam was about to take another sip of coffee, but pauses with his mug halfway to his mouth. He pales several shades as he stares at Cas, who doesn’t look at all to be joking. Finally, he chokes out, “Yes?”

Dean gapes. “No fucking way.”

Cas nods solemnly, looking at Charlie and then Dean. “Dean, your brother is one of the few people deemed worthy of wielding the hammer of Thor.”

Dean grins at Sam. “Do you know what this means?”

“I’m a Norse god?”

“Don’t be an idiot. You get to _fuck_ with people, Sammy! You saw the Thor movie—people _love_ an impossible challenge!”

“Hold up a sec, guys,” Charlie says, holding her hands in front of her in a clear request for silence. She glares at Sam. “Sam, you have the _actual Mjölnir, the hammer of Thor_ , and you _didn’t think to tell me_?! Do I have to use your full name again? Because if I do, I will not hesitate.”

Sam shrugs sheepishly. “I was going to show you later?” he hedges. “You know, once the costume was done and I could go the whole thing at once.”

Charlie’s glare doesn’t lessen. “That is weak and you know it, _Millen_.”

Sam flinches and mumbles, “Sorry, Charlie.”

Charlie huffs and turns back to Dean and Cas, who were watching the exchange with wide eyes. “And you two,” she snaps, earning their full attention, “I figured you would go _Trek_ from the get-go, so I came prepared. Your costumes are ready, you can try them on in the morning before we leave.”

Dean frowns. “We’re leaving _tomorrow_?”

Charlie rolls her eyes. “Yes, tomorrow. The convention starts Friday, and I know for a fact you aren’t willing to fly, Dean, so don’t look at me like that.”

“Not the point here, Charlie. Where the hell is this convention if we have to leave two days ahead of time?”

“Oh.” Charlie frowns. “Did I not mention that part?”

“ _Charlie_.”

Charlie winces almost imperceptibly. “It’s in Seattle.”

“Seattle’s nice this time of year,” Sam says from his end of the table.

Dean curses under his breath and scrubs a hand across his face. “Yeah, alright. But if I’m driving for twenty-four hours, I’m doing it well-rested.” He snags Cas’s hand in his own and begins towing him toward the hall.

“Sorry!” Charlie calls after them. “Goodnight, Dean! ‘Night, Cas!”

Dean feels Cas twist in his grip to wave back to Charlie. It makes him smile.

In their room, they both strip down to nothing but their boxers and slide under the covers together. As usual, they gravitate toward one another, and press their bodies together in the center of the bed. Cas tucks his head into the hollow under Dean’s chin and wraps his arms around Dean’s waist, leaving their legs to tangle together as they see fit.

Dean rubs a hand up and down Cas’s back and presses a kiss into the mass of unruly dark hair that tickles his face. “Goodnight, angel.”

Cas hums quietly in response, already falling asleep. “G’night, Dean,” he mumbles.

Even if this is nothing new, Dean’s heart swells. He doesn’t mind that Sam and Charlie were teasing them about how close they are, he doesn’t care that they think this is some ridiculous, over-the-top honeymoon stage. What he cares about is that this is the happiest he’s ever been in his long, gruesome life.

And he has only Cas to thank for it.

Dean hugs Cas to him a little tighter, and when he drifts off to sleep moments later, it is with a smile in his lips.

~

Castiel awakes the following morning to Dean’s erection grinding into his ass. At first, the feel of it makes him stiffen with fear and uncertainty, but then he reminds himself that this is Dean, and Dean is safe.

Besides, from the lazy movements of Dean’s hips, it is not hard to figure out that he is sleeping. He can hardly be blamed for having pleasant dreams.

Castiel contemplates his options. He knows Dean will stop if he asks him to—if he wakes him ups—but is that really necessary? Castiel himself is not aroused, but that does not mean he cannot help Dean.

Mind made up, Castiel turns in the hold of Dean’s arms and reaches to tug his boxers down, wrapping a hand around Dean’s exposed length. He strokes purposefully, twisting his wrist near the head and slowing every so often to massage his thumb across the slit.

Dean moans quietly and tightens his hold on Cas, and his hips thrust more quickly into his hand. Then Dean’s eyes fly open, and he gasps, “ _Cas_.”

Cas hums and mouths at the hinge of Dean’s jaw. “Hello, Dean.”

Dean chuckles breathlessly, but the sound is quickly overtaken by another moan. His fingers are now digging into Cas’s biceps with enough force to leave marks, but Castiel doesn’t mind.

Whatever Dean was dreaming of must have worked him quite a bit, because it is only mere minutes before his body tenses and he is coming with a groan.

Cas smiles into Dean’s shoulder while he waits for him to come down from his high, but when Dean slips a hand into the waistband of Castiel’s boxers, Castiel gently pushes him away and kisses him instead. They make out lazily for a few moments before Dean threads his fingers into Castiel’s hair and pulls back.

“You don’t want me to…?” he asks, brow furrowed.

Castiel shakes his head and captures Dean’s lips with his own again in lieu of a verbal answer, slipping his tongue into his mouth and savoring the taste of _Dean_.

Someone smacks their hand on the outside of their bedroom door, startling them both. “Hey, lovebirds!” Charlie shouts. “Enough with the canoodling, Captain Kirk and Commander Spock need to report to the bridge immediately, or they won’t be getting breakfast before we hit the road!”

Dean sighs and flops his head back against his pillow. “We’ll be right out, Charlie!” he yells back. He then shoots Castiel a smirk. “Wanna take a shower with me?”

Castiel smiles. “Of course, Dean.”

~

They join Charlie and Sam in the kitchen twenty minutes later, and are greeted by two mugs of freshly-poured coffee and a box of donuts. Two duffle bags are sitting on the table, packed and ready to go.

Charlie is quick to offer Dean and Castiel donuts, along with a shrug and the explanation, “I had to some time on my hands this morning after finishing Sam’s costume, so I went to the store and loaded up on road-snacks.”

Dean is too busy shoving a powdered donut into his mouth to respond, so as Castiel selects a maple bar donut for himself he takes it upon himself to say, “Thank you, Charlie.”

Charlie waves him off and sets the box back on the table. “Don’t mention it. As thanks, you can try on your new Starfleet Command shirts.” She passes a blue shirt to Castiel and a gold shirt to Dean.

Castiel takes a single bite of his donut before setting it on the table to better examine his new shirt. The material is surprisingly light and airy, and the shade of blue is surprisingly pleasant. The Starfleet insignia on the breast glimmers softly in the kitchen lights.

“Well don’t just stare at it, Spock,” Charlie teases. “Try it on, I need to know if it fits!”

Castiel pulls his t-shirt—a Led Zeppelin shirt he found at the bottom of Dean’s drawer—over his head and tosses it toward the table. Dean wolf-whistles at the sight, and Castiel silences him with a glare before putting on the costume shirt. It fits him reasonably well, but looking down at himself, he can tell it would look much better with black pants and shoes than worn jeans and purple socks.

Charlie must be thinking the same thing, because she says, “I was thinking you could borrow pants and shoes from one of your FBI costumes to finish out the look. I have ear and eyebrow prosthetics, too, but I’ll save those for the con.”

Dean, meanwhile, is staring at Castiel with barely-restrained want. “ _Damn_ you look good in science blue.”

Castiel raises an eyebrow. Is that what the color means in the show? He isn’t sure. Regardless, he says, “Thank you, Dean. Perhaps you should try yours on as well?”

Dean is quick to swap his own shirt out for the one Charlie had handed him. It hugs his form nicely, accentuating the muscles of his upper-arms and shoulders. The gold coloring makes the green of Dean’s eyes stand out beautifully in his face.

Dean grins at Castiel. “So? What do you think, Mr. Spock?”

“You look well, Captain,” Castiel replies, being sure to keep any emotion from showing on his face which, luckily, is something he has practice at.

Dean throws his head back and laughs. He says to Charlie, “I think these costumes may be the best idea you’ve ever had.”

“I’m glad you think so,” Charlie replies cheerily. She downs the remainder of her own mug of coffee and points at the bags on the table. “Sam was just about to take his things to my car, since he’s riding with me. We figured you two would appreciate the time together in the Impala. We’re heading out in thirty minutes.”

Sam, who has remained quiet until this point, snorts. “Charlie, my concern wasn’t that they get time together—I’m just refusing to drive across the country in an enclosed space with them when I have another option.”

Castiel frowns. “Do you not enjoy our company, Sam?”

“That’s not what I said!” Sam backtracks quickly. “But I’m sure you’ll make me sit in the backseat, and even without factoring in how over-the-top affectionate the two of you are guaranteed to be the whole time, that sounds pretty unappealing.” He shrugs. “So, I’m riding with Charlie. Anyway, she needs her car and she’ll need someone two switch off driving with.”

Dean pats Castiel on the back of his shoulder. “Sammy’s just jealous that he’s single, Cas,” he says with a wink. “Besides, this will be fun! A road trip, just the two of us.” He casts a glance at Sam and Charlie. “Well, almost. Caravan style.”

Sam rolls his eyes. “Don’t be an ass, Dean. You’re a sap and you know it.”

“I was not complaining,” Castiel says as he changes back into his Led Zeppelin shirt, “I was merely curious. I respect your decision to ride with Charlie, Sam.” He then picks up what is left of his donut and scarfs it down in a few quick bites. He hooks a hand around Dean’s elbows and pulls him back out of the kitchen, ignoring his protests. “We need to pack, Dean.”

Dean sighs, but does not resist. “Yes, _dear_.”

~

They’re on the road a mere twenty minutes later. Castiel is impressed by the efficiency, but not necessarily surprised—John Winchester raised his sons on the road, after all. A mobile life is more standard to Dean and Sam than a stationary one.

The Impala takes point in their small caravan, Charlie and Sam in Charlie’s Gremlin right behind them. Most of the first leg of their journey passes with a companionable silence settled between Castiel and Dean, the sound of the radio keeping them occupied in populated areas, and Dean’s tape collection doing the job when the signal goes out. Castiel finds himself dozing several times, and when he does, he always ends up with his head on Dean’s shoulder.

Nine hours into the drive, Dean pulls the Impala to the side of the road.

“Dean?”

Dean only smirks in response and exits the car. Castiel is quick to do the same, and steps out of the Impala in time do see Sam and Charlie doing the same behind them.

“Dean, what the hell are you doing?” Sam demands.

“Switching drivers, Sammy, it’s not a foreign concept.” He tosses his keys over the top of the Impala to Castiel, who catches them instinctively. “You can do this, right, Cas?” he asks he walks around to join Castiel on the passenger side of the vehicle.

Castiel frowns. “I—Dean, I don’t—”

Dean cradles Castiel’s face in his hands and presses his lips to his forehead. “You got this, angel,” he soothes with a grin. “You need to learn at some point, and we’re about five hours from Twin Falls, which is where we’re stopping for the night.” Castiel’s fear must show in his eyes, because Dean’s expression softens. “You can do this, Cas. It’s easy, and I’ll be sitting right next to you.”

Castiel swallows roughly and looks down at the keys clutched in his hand.

He has never been very good at denying Dean Winchester.

He looks back up to meet Dean’s gaze. “Okay.”

A spark of hope enters Dean’s eyes. “Yeah?”

Castiel nods, ignoring the knots in his stomach. It takes conscious effort for him to reciprocate Dean’s gentle kiss, which Dean seems to sense, if his sigh is any indication.

“You don’t have to do this if you don’t want to, Cas,” he says earnestly. “Really, I don’t mind.”

“No, I can do it.” Castiel smiles tightly and slips from Dean’s grip to move around the car to the still-open driver’s door. “I promise.”

Dean grins. “Good.” He looks back to the Gremlin and its passengers, who have been watching the scene with sappy smiles on their faces. “You two gonna switch?”

Sam looks to Charlie on the driver’s side, who shrugs. “Up to you, Millen,” she says.

Dean swings back into the Impala as they switch places. He rests a hand on Castiel’s knee and asks, “You know how to start her up?”

Castiel scowls. He turns the key in the ignition, and the Impala roars to life beneath them.

Dean raises his hands in apology. “Alright, man, I just had to ask. Now, shift from park to drive using this”—he points to a stick to the right of the wheel—“and ease your foot down on the gas pedal—that’s the one on the right. The pedal on the left in the brake.”

Castiel nods his affirmation and does as he is told. He carefully pulls the car back into the road and accelerates to an appropriate speed. Dean gives him pointers the whole time, reminding him to stay in his lane and to stay clear of other cars and the like.

Driving, Castiel decides, is not nearly as difficult as it seemed to be from afar.

The sun descends lower and lower in the sky until eventually sinking below the horizon. The decreasing of light worries Castiel at first, but he relaxes once Dean instructs him how to turn on the Impala’s headlights, which light the road more than adequately.

Miles of pavement fly by beneath their wheels, but Castiel hardly notices. He marvels at how easy it is to sink into a near thoughtless trance, much that he has seen Dean and even Sam fall into. He almost wonders if his ease at driving has to do with muscle memory left over from Jimmy Novak’s inhabitance all those years ago in the body that is now purely _Castiel_.

Or, perhaps, he is simply good at it. That is possible, he supposes.

At one point, Castiel glances over to find Dean fast asleep against the passenger door. Even sleeping upright, and in a car at that, Dean looks at peace, with his face smoothed of all worries and mouth slightly agape. While it is true that Dean has been remarkably happier, more relaxed since he and Castiel officially entered into a romantic relationship, many of his fears and concerns are still deeply ingrained in his very being. Sleep is one of the only escapes he has ever known.

Eventually, Castiel has to wake him. He takes Dean’s hand in his own and threads their fingers together, squeezing gently and smiling widely when Dean immediately grips back.

Dean slides across the seat to lean against Castiel’s side, yawning loudly as he goes. “What time is it?” he asks blearily, wiping at his eyes with the hand not twisted with Castiel’s.

“Close to midnight,” Castiel replies. “We’re getting into Twin Falls right now. Where are we stopping for the night?”

With Dean’s direction, they make their way through the darkened streets of Twin Falls and to a cheap motel, like so many of the other motels they have stayed in over the years. Sam is the one who does into the office to get a room—one room for them all to share, in the interest of their budget. He and Charlie enter the room first, but Dean stops Castiel with a hand on his elbow before he can follow them across the threshold.

Castiel’s brow furrows. “Yes, Dean?”

Exhaustion is etched into every line of Dean’s face, but when he smiles at Castiel, it seems to vanish. Before Castiel knows what is happening, Dean pulls him into a crushing hug and says into his ear, “You did good today, Cas. I’m proud of you.”

Castiel feels his face heat with a blush as he leans into Dean’s hold. “I was only _driving_ , Dean, that hardly seems worthy of praise.”

Dean’s shoulders twitch in a shrug, and he buries his nose in Castiel’s hair. “It might be mundane, but you’ve never done it before, so I think it still needs to be congratulated.”

Castiel huffs in amusement. "Thank you, Dean.”

“If you guys could come in sometime today, that’d be great,” Sam yells from inside the room. Then, “Charlie, you didn’t have to hit me! We need to _sleep_.”

Dean chuckles, the sound reverberating pleasantly through Castiel’s whole body. “Alright, alright,” he says, taking a half-step back and grabbing Castiel’s hand instead. “Come on, angel.”

In the room, Charlie and Sam are already changed into sleeping clothes and lying in the bed farthest from the door. Charlie appears to already be halfway asleep, but Sam props himself up on an elbow to glare at Dean and Castiel when they enter.

“Dean, I swear to god, if you two get up to any funny business whatsoever tonight, I will not hesitate to kill you.”

Dean puts a hand to his chest, doing his best to look affronted. “And why are you so sure _I’m_ the one who needs to be reprimanded?”

Castiel had begun stripping off his jeans to crawl into bed, but he stops and gives Dean a disapproving look. “You _are_ the one who needs to be reprimanded, Dean.”

Dean shrugs.

Sam rolls his eyes. “Go to bed, Dean.”

Dean follows Castiel’s example in discarding his jeans and slides into the bed beside him. He clicks off the lamp on the table next to him, casting the room into total darkness.

As soon as Dean is settled, Castiel assumes his typical position pressed along Dean’s front, his head tucked under Dean’s chin. He nuzzles lightly against Dean’s neck and whispers, “Goodnight, Dean.”

Dean weaves a hand into the back of Castiel’s hair. “‘Night, angel.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello!  
> Sorry for the wait for this chapter, but it's GISHWHES week, so I've been short on time. Bear with me.
> 
> This chapter:  
> I'm not sure how big of a deal this is, but I want to point it out anyway: Cas has a bit of a **panic attack** this chapter. I'm not sure how well it comes across, but I know some people like this kind of thing tagged, so here it is. Sorry. The scene just sort of... happened.

They get into Seattle at about five o’clock the following evening.

Castiel had driven for the first several hours of the day, but Dean took over as they got into Washington, and when they left the flat roads behind and drove across a mountain range, Castiel was extremely relieved to not be behind the wheel.

Additionally, from what Castiel has observed, driving through a large, heavily populated city is not nearly as easy or as relaxing as driving on a long, uninterrupted stretch of highway.

Dean can drive in the city all he wants. Castiel certainly won’t try to stop him.

Not long after they arrive in the city, Charlie, behind the wheel of the Gremlin, takes point in order to lead them to the hotel she booked them in for the weekend. The hotel—and it is definitely a _hotel_ , not a _motel_ —is only a few blocks from the convention center, right in the hustle and bustle of downtown.

“Isn’t this place a bit above our paygrade?” Dean asks Charlie as they make their way into the lobby. “We don’t exactly have a source of income, you know.”

Charlie only shrugs and says cryptically, “I have my ways.”

Sam snorts. “Dean, I really don’t think we’re in any position to be complaining.”

“It is considerably nicer than the places we usually stay in, Dean,” Castiel adds, if only to add fuel to the fire.

“Yeah, yeah,” Dean says, hooking an arm around Castiel’s shoulders and pulling him close. “I just hope we aren’t expected to share a room again because of our ‘budget’.”

They wait patiently while Charlie steps up to the check-in counter and gives the clerk her information. When she returns with keys for three separate rooms, Dean calls her a saint, which, in Castiel’s opinion, may be a bit extreme.

Regardless, Charlie grins at him. “I am a good and noble queen,” she says, “And good queens always reward loyalty, handmaiden.”

Dean snorts and takes their pair of keys from her. “Thank you, your highness.”

Castiel decides not to ask.

“Also,” Charlie continues, “I made sure mine and Sam’s rooms are on the other end of the floor from yours. Try not to get kicked out on noise complaints, though, please.”

Before Dean can make a semi-witty comeback, Castiel says, “We won’t.”

Sam takes his own key from Charlie as the group heads for the bank of elevators on the other end of the lobby. “You know, I’m really impressed, Charlie. You planned this really well.”

“Damn straight I did,” Charlie smirks. “I have an agenda this weekend, thank you very much. You three being here is just a bonus.”

“What is your ‘agenda’?” Castiel asks.90

After they step into the elevator and press the button for their floor, Charlie shifts the bags she is holding to rest in the crooks of her elbows and holds three fingers up on one of her now-empty hands. The other hand points to each of those fingers in turn as she lists, “One, Gina Torres and Jewel Staite, autograph sessions and _Firefly_ panel. Two, Hayley Atwell and everything that that entails. Three, I’m meeting up with a friend who lives around here.” She slides her bags back down into her hands and shrugs. “Plus, you guys know how I am about collectibles. That wasn’t a joke.”

“A friend, huh?” Sam says with a chuckle. “Guess that explains why I get my own room, then.”

“Can it, Millen.”

The elevator finally comes to a stop on their floor and they step out into the hall. As Charlie said, Dean and Castiel’s room is to the right, and her and Sam’s rooms are to the left. They part ways with quick goodbyes, and an agreement to meet at Charlie’s room at eight o’clock the next morning to get ready.

As they walk away, Castiel hears Sam ask Charlie, “So how long are you going to keep calling me by my middle name?”

Charlie’s reply is lost down the hallway, but Sam’s responding laugh is not.

Dean slings his arm around Castiel again and shakes his head exasperatedly. “Those two dorks are perfect for each other.”

Castiel only hums in response, but the fondness in Dean’s tone makes him smile. He knows that Dean views Charlie as a sister, and for a man who has known grief more intimately than most in his lifetime, any addition to his family is one to be celebrated. Castiel himself has been a part of that family for years, and of all his many years of existence, that status is his most cherished.

Dean and Castiel’s room is the last one at the end of the hallway. Dean slides his key card into the reader above the door handle and pushes it open, revealing a pristine, spacious room. The décor is rather plain—of course, most hotel rooms seem plain compared to the eccentricities of the by-the-hour type motels the Winchesters more often stay in—but nice, complete with all amenities Castiel would hope to see. The single bed—a large, king-sized mattress with a plush white comforter covering it—calls to him, but first, he needs to remove the road trip residue from his skin.

“I need to shower,” he tells Dean. “Would you like to join me?”

Predictably, Dean agrees.

They enter the bathroom and shed their clothes, then step together into the warm spray of the shower. Castiel shivers at the first touch of hot water, and again when Dean settles a scorching hand on his hip. Castiel leans into the touch, sliding his own hands up Dean’s sides before loosely wrapping them around his neck and shoulders and pulling him in for a kiss. Their lips slide together languidly, parting to allow their tongues to meet.

Dean’s hand tightens on Castiel’s hip as he presses him back against the tiled wall, causing Castiel to moan deeply. Dean takes advantage of this and plunges his tongue into Castiel’s mouth, tracing the tip along the roof. His hips come forward as well, pinning Castiel’s to the wall and grinding their erections together.

The friction is exquisite, and Castiel’s hips twitch of their own accord in response. This is new territory for the two of them—yes, they have been sexually intimate, but what they are doing now is far more intense, far more _physical_ than what Castiel is used to. The foreignness of it frightens him, almost enough for him to call it off, but it feels so _good_.

Dean’s hips never cease in their movements, and the moment he snakes a hand down their bodies to fist around both of their cocks, Castiel is lost.

“ _Dean_ ,” he somehow manages to gasp, “ _Please_.”

What he is asking for, though, he hardly knows.

Dean groans and thrusts more forcefully against Castiel, the channel created by his fist amplifying the sensations building in Castiel’s groin.

And then Castiel comes with a shout, his arms tightening around Dean. He is only vaguely aware of Dean reaching his own climax mere seconds later. Their bodies slump together against the shower wall, the flow of water already washing away their releases.

Dean mouths lazily along the column of Castiel’s neck as they come down from their mutual highs. “Fuck, Cas,” he mumbles, “That was _incredible_.”

Castiel hums and reaches for the small bottle of hotel shampoo, squirting a reasonable amount onto his fingertips to lather into Dean’s hair. Dean’s eyes slide closed as he arches into Castiel’s hands, but almost immediately he jolts back to full awareness and jumps back, slapping a hand to his neck and staring at Castiel with wide eyes.

Castiel frowns. “Dean?”

Dean takes his hand away from his neck to look down at it. “Dude,” he breathes, turning his hand for Castiel to see, “You fucking _bit_ me.”

Sure enough, Dean’s hand is covered in a fair amount of blood, though it is quickly being rinsed away by the shower. On the fleshy juncture between his neck and shoulder is the perfect imprint of teeth— _Castiel’s teeth_. Although the wound is clearly shallow and likely to heal without lasting damage, the skin was still broken, causing it to bleed sluggishly.

He had not meant to do it, had not even known it happened, and yet it did.

He hurt Dean.

Yet again.

Castiel thinks he might be sick.

Dean’s hands come up to cup Castiel’s face, forcing him to look into those green, green eyes. His lips move, but Castiel hears nothing beyond the ringing of his own ears.

Even as a human, he ruins everything he touches.

Maybe Naomi was right about him being broken.

What other explanation could there be?

Then Dean kisses him, slow and gentle, his fingers still caressing Castiel’s face, running through his hair. He seems hazy before Castiel’s eyes, but his words begin to clear. “Cas, angel, I need you to calm down for me, alright?” he says softly. “This isn’t worth freaking out about, babe, I swear to you. I’m not upset.”

Castiel blinks several times, swallowing hard. When had he started shaking? Furthermore, when had they gotten out of the shower? He was certainly not sitting on the edge of the bed last he was aware.

Castiel must have said at least some of that out loud, because Dean chuckles. “I figured the shower wasn’t the best place for a panic attack, so I dried you off and brought you out here.” He sighs and rests their foreheads together. “Are you okay? You really had me worried for a minute there. I almost called Sam for backup.”

Castiel leans further into Dean, allowing the touch to draw away some of the tension filling his body. Despite the level of relaxation, he says, “I bit you.”

He feels more than sees Dean nod. “Yeah, and I don’t care,” he replies, soothing his hands over Castiel’s still-naked thighs. “Do I look upset to you?”

That brings Castiel up short. “Why aren’t you upset with me?” he asks. “Dean, I _hurt_ you.”

Dean shrugs. “I’m not upset because it’s _you_. Maybe you missed the memo, but I’m kind of in love with you. I know damn well you didn’t mean to hurt me.” His mouth twists in a smirk. “And obviously I never mentioned it, but I totally have a thing for biting, scratching, marking, all that shit. Call it a kink.”

Now that Castiel thinks back, Dean never did look upset, only… surprised? Yes, that would make sense. Neither of them had noticed the bite right away, having been distracted by their other activities, so it would only make sense for Dean’s reaction to have been one of shock at discovering a wound he did not feel.

Castiel sighs. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Dean replies easily. “Are you hungry? I was thinking of ordering room service.”

“Alright.”

~

Cas curls in on himself on the bed, and if it weren’t for the blue eyes following Dean’s every movement, he would believe him to be asleep.

Dean pulls the bed covers out from under Cas’s body and instead drapes them over him, tucking them securely around his form. He pecks a kiss to Cas’s forehead before drifting away, snagging the hotel’s informational book off of the desk and positioning himself in front of the phone.

Once dinner is ordered—two burgers and two chocolate milkshakes (he figures Cas could use the sugar)—he digs through his duffle for a pair of drawstring pajama pants and a worn t-shirt. He doesn’t intend on wearing them for long, of course, not with Cas as (literally) naked and vulnerable as he is in the bed currently, but he doesn’t think whoever will be bringing their food would appreciate him opening the door in the buff.

He sits on the bed next to Cas while he waits. Cas, of course, curls his body around him as soon as he sits, so Dean absentmindedly pets a hand through his already-wild strands of hair while he flips channels on the television in search of something to watch.

Their food arrives within minutes, and after Dean strips his clothes off as planned, they eat it to the sound of the opening theme of _Jurassic Park_. Cas perks up considerably after his first bite of burger, and even more so when he takes a sip of his milkshake. Dean also suspects that his own constant presence and assurance that there is _literally nothing_ to freak out about helps. Their bodies are pressed together from shoulder to foot—which makes it _really_ hard to eat a burger, _not_ recommended under typical circumstances—and little by little, Dean feels Cas truly relax against him.

Dean is almost positive that Cas has seen the first _Jurassic Park_ movie before, but judging by how fully enraptured the guy is, he begins to think he may have fallen asleep or otherwise been distracted. His face light’s up with childlike excitement, he looks legitimately offended by the antagonists’ choices, and he jumps at all the right parts, all while his milkshake is clutched tightly to him, only occasionally being consumed.

In all, he’s fucking adorable.

Cutest angel in the garrison, that’s for damn sure.

During a commercial break toward the end of the movie, Cas turns to Dean and asks, “Do we have this film at home?”

Dean smiles. Apparently he doesn’t remember, then. “All three of ‘em, angel.”

Cas’s eyes widen. “Three?”

“Yup.” Dean nudges him a bit with his shoulder. “This one and two sequels. Plus, there’s a new one coming out in a couple months.”

Cas looks back to the TV, considering Dean’s words. Eventually, he asks, “May we see the new one when it releases?”

“It’s a date.”

Cas smiles widely at that, and Dean’s heart swells at the sight. He much prefers Happy Cas to a Moody Cas.

The movie ends a short time later. Dean is forced to get out of bed to relocate their dinner dishes to a table and not, you know, _the bed they’re sleeping in_ , and to flick the lights off. By the time he returns to the bed—mere minutes later—Cas has fallen asleep.

Dean is

extremely careful not to wake him when he slides back into place alongside him, but even if he does not wake, Cas must sense him there, because he immediately closes the distance between their bodies and latches on. Dean manages to tuck Cas’s head under his chin and nuzzles into the dark mop of hair that tickles his face. Cushioned by the scent of _Cas_ —the scent of coconut shampoo and that deeper, ever-present smell Dean associates with an oncoming storm—he drifts off to sleep.

~

Alright, so Dean _may_ have forgotten to set an alarm clock before they went to bed. No big deal.

Charlie starts banging on their door at eight-fifteen. She beats out a constant rhythm, obviously not planning on stopping until she is granted entrance to the room.

Cas burrows further into Dean’s chest, grumbling incoherently. Dean, meanwhile, has a lifetime of hunter’s instincts drilled into his head, so he is wide-awake almost instantly. He carefully extracts himself from Cas—whose grumblings get louder at the loss of his cuddle-buddy—and steps into the pajama pants he had ditched the night before before opening the door.

Charlie quickly pulls away from the door, nearly bumping into Sam, who is standing behind her with his arms crossed. Charlie looks Dean over, then raises an eyebrow. “Morning sex?” she asks.

Dean gives a soft huff of amusement. “God, I wish,” he answers. “Sorry, we overslept.”

“Yeah, I see that.” Charlie rises to the balls of her feet to peek over Dean’s shoulder and into the hotel room. “Cas up yet?”

From the bed, Cas growls, “No.”

Dean sighs and turns to face him, still blocking the Sam and Charlie in the doorway. “Cas, put some pants on, will ya?”

Sam snorts. “No morning sex, huh?”

“Is sleeping naked a foreign concept to you, Sam?” Dean snaps in return. It usually isn’t the kind of thing that would bother him, but after the rough night Cas had, Dean himself feels the need to tread lightly.

Cas redraws his attention by flopping dramatically beneath the covers, positioning himself so only the top of his head is visible. “Why,” he says flatly, not even bothering to form it into a question.

“Because, Cas, it’s the human thing to do.” He pauses. “If you don’t put pants on, I’m letting Sam and Charlie in anyway.”

Cas finally slides out of the bed and crosses the room to his duffle bag on the couch, then immediately returns once a pair of black boxers are in place. He raises an eyebrow at Dean, as if challenging him to comment.

Dean doesn’t. It’s still an improvement, so he has no room to complain—besides, _he_ isn’t the one who might end up mentally scarred by exposed skin. He steps back to allow Sam and Charlie into the room and closes the door behind them.

“You two packed your costumes in your bags, right?” Charlie asks, getting right down to business. When Dean and Cas nod, she says, “Good. Cas, I brought your prosthetics. Do you need to shower or anything before I put them on?”

“Yes,” Cas replies with a heavy sigh, throwing the covers back and getting to his feet. “I was unable to finish showering last night.”

Dean barely withholds a flinch. He pats Cas on the shoulder as he passes, saying, “Sammy and I’ll go out and pick up some breakfast while you do that.”

Cas nods and slips into the bathroom, closing the door behind him. Once the shower has turned on and they hear the curtain be pulled shut, Charlie whispers to Dean, her brow furrowed, “What’s up with him?”

Dean only shakes his head. It isn’t his place to tell, and it isn’t their place to know. He turns to Sam. “Breakfast?”

“Sure.” The corners of Sam’s mouth twitch upward into a smile. “You planning on going just like that? Want to show off your love-bite to all of Seattle?”

Dean’s face heats, and he quickly goes to his bag and pulls out jeans and a collared shirt to change into, ignoring Sam and Charlie’s sniggering. After he dresses, he shoves his phone and his wallet into his pockets and snags his keys from the desk. He smacks Sam on the shoulder on his way out the door. “Just for being a bitch, you can buy.”

Sam rolls his eyes, but doesn’t object.

~

Twenty-five minutes and one incredibly overwhelmed Starbucks later, Dean knocks against his and Cas’s hotel-room door, he and Sam each carrying too much to open it themselves.

When Cas opens the door, Dean just about drops everything anyway. “Holy _shit_ , Cas!” he says, grinning widely. “You look fucking awesome, dude!”

Cas smiles slightly, but the expression quickly reverses into a frown. He moves back to let Dean and Sam into the room. “The eyebrows are uncomfortable,” he says, the features in question twitching in agitation. “I would prefer to only wear the ears, but Charlie insists that is unacceptable.”

“Cas, we’ve been over this,” Charlie says on a sigh, standing from the couch to come investigate the breakfast offerings, “As a Vulcan, you can’t _only_ have pointed ears. It’s the _combo_ that works, here. Just let it happen.”

Dean passes Cas a coffee and presses a chaste kiss to the space between Cas’s eyebrows. “I already told you, man, you look great.” It’s true, too—Charlie did an excellent job fixing up his ears and eyebrows, making them indistinguishable from his real skin. The science-blue Starfleet shirt fits perfectly, and it makes the blue of his eyes stand out more than usual. His hair, though, stands nearly on end, as it always does after a shower. Dean can’t resist running his fingers through it. “And let me tell you, your hair is a _hell_ of a lot better than the real Spock’s.”

Cas smiles, for real this time, and sips contentedly at his coffee while Dean pets him. After a moment he catches Dean’s hand in his own and says, “Perhaps you should change, as well?”

“Yeah, alright.” Dean turns to his brother and Charlie, who have been speaking to one another in hushed tones near the door. “You two planning on leaving any time soon? I was under the impression we were on a schedule.”

They jerk away from each other and grin sheepishly, like children caught with their hands in the cookie jar. Dean and Cas exchange confused glances, and Charlie is quick to say, “Yep! Schedule. Very important. We’ll go change, meet you in the lobby in twenty minutes.”

Sam nods in agreement. “Twenty minutes.”

And then they are gone.

“What the fuck was that about?” Dean asks Cas as he turns to loot through his bag for his Kirk shirt.

“I… don’t know,” Cas replies slowly. His narrowed eyes are still locked on the door, like he expects Sam or Charlie to come back through it with an explanation. “Are they planning something? This seems like the kind of behavior someone would exhibit if they were planning something in secret.”

Dean pauses in swapping his shirts and frowns. “Shit. They probably are, those assholes.” He pulls the gold shirt over his head. “No idea what it could be, though.”

Cas hums in response and moves to sit on the bed with his feet tucked under him. He watches idly as Dean changes into pants and shoes that accompany his costume, still drinking his coffee.

When he is finished, Dean spreads his arms in Cas’s direction, baring himself to his review. “So?” he asks, shimmying slightly. “What do you think?”

Cas stands from the bed and crosses to Dean, where he smooths a hand over his chest. “I think gold suits you, Dean,” he answers with a barely-there smile, his eyes shining. “It brings out your eyes.”

Dean can’t help but chuckle at the similarity to his own review of Cas’s attire. He fists a hand in Cas’s shirt and hauls him in for a kiss. When he eventually pulls back, he says, “You’re such a sap.”

“Perhaps.”

Dean tugs Cas’s shirt back into place, smoothing out the wrinkles he put there. “Well, I think we’re good to go. Wanna just head to the lobby and wait for the others?”

Cas nods and slips his hand into Dean’s. “Let’s go.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So my goal was to update this Wednesday, and in my timezone, I still have, like, fifteen minutes. Procrastination at its finest, friends.
> 
> Couple of things:
> 
> 1\. Emerald City Comic Con in Seattle. It probably isn't hard to figure out that this is the con I attend, but I tried to keep locations and things like that vague, so that the fic as a whole doesn't come across as a tourism piece. I'm using the schedule from this year's con, but that's about it.
> 
> 2\. Sam's costume is based largely on [this](http://dahliasheng.tumblr.com/post/119238995647/superavengers-sam-winchester-as-thor-redo-of) and Charlie's is [this](http://vignette4.wikia.nocookie.net/theguildshow/images/b/bd/The-guild-codex.jpg/revision/latest?cb=20100816195513), because my love for The Guild is absolutely shameless.

Dean and Cas wait for Sam and Charlie for almost half an hour, by the end of which Dean has begun to pace.

“What the fuck are they even doing?” Dean hisses to Cas, who sits on a couch and watches him with amusement. “I get they have to put their costumes on and shit, but there’s still something else going on there.”

Cas shakes his head. “I agree that they are keeping a secret of some sort, but I still think you may be taking this too seriously.” He gestures toward the empty half of the couch. “Sit with me.”

Dean blows out a long breath, but obliges Cas and flops down next to him. He is painfully aware of the blush that colors his face when Cas reaches and threads their fingers together, but he doesn’t pull away. Instead he squeezes Cas’s hand and grumbles, “What the hell is Charlie dressing up as, anyway? Does it really take this long?”

“Excuse you, this perfection does not come easily.”

Dean spins around to find Charlie standing right behind the couch, her hands on her hips, and Dean’s jaw drops at the sight of her. She looks amazing, in a short, fitted white-and-red dress, brown heels that lace upwards to red and gold knee pads, and a matching staff with green orb on top. Even more amazing, though, is the extra length to her hair, which is now curled and reaches past her shoulders.

“Holy shit, Charlie,” Dean breathes at the same time that Cas asks, “How did you make your hair longer?”

Charlie shrugs. “Hair extensions, man. They’re like magic.”

“So, uh…” Dean looks her over and clears his throat. “Who are you?”

“Have you ever heard of _The Game_?”

Dean’s brow furrows. “No. Should I have?”

Charlie scoffs. “I’m not surprised you haven’t heard of it, but it’s still a shame. Anyway, it’s a popular role-playing game, and _this_ ,” she gestures to her costume, “is Codex, my in-game character. I’m part of a guild—it’s a whole thing. The friend I’m meeting up with is in the guild, too.”

“Right,” Dean says. “Well, you look great. I’m sure she’ll be all over you.”

Charlie beams.

Cas adds, “Yes, Charlie, your costume is spectacular. Where is Sam?”

“Here,” Sam says, walking up to join them. “I was going to take the same elevator down as Charlie, but I forgot my cellphone in my room and had to go back.”

Dean grins. “The god of thunder needs a cellphone?”

Sam rolls his eyes. “Shut up, Dean.”

In his full Thor costume, Sam looks like he could give the actual actor a run for his money. He’s already a jumbo-sized human being, but with the suit and cape? It’s pretty damn perfect.

And of course, the authentic hammer just makes it that much better.

“Sam,” Cas greets. “You look good, as well.”

Sam smiles and runs a hand through his hair. “Thanks, Cas.” He looks between Charlie and Dean. “Are we ready to go, then? The convention should be open by now.”

Charlie opens a hidden pocket in the lower skirt of her dress and pulls out four green badges on thin, black lanyards. “Here,” she says, handing one to each of them and hooking the fourth around her own neck. “These will get you in the doors. Keep them around your neck and you’ll be fine.”

They do as they’re told then set out from the hotel, making their way to the convention center through the already crowded Seattle streets. More than one bemused business worker stares at them as they pass, but the closer they get, the more approving the onlookers become. The convention center, when they finally reach it, is an overwhelming mass of people, almost all of whom are dressed in costumes equally as impressive as their own. Dean probably couldn’t name half of them if he tried, but Charlie’s eyes alight with joy at almost every one of them.

“That girl’s Zelda is incredible!” she stage-whispers, elbowing Dean in the side. “Do you see her? Oh! And a life-sized, remote-controlled Dalek? No way. Dean, have you watched Doctor Who?”’

Dean smiles and loops an arm over Charlie’s shoulders, careful not to disturb her costume in any way. “I’ve caught a few episodes,” he answers, “but not a lot of motels have BBC. Anyway, it was alright, but I don’t really know if it’s my kind of show.”

Charlie looks at him curiously. “What episodes did you see? Do you remember which Doctor it was?”

“Uh…” Dean tries to think back to when he had seen the program on a marathon, but the memories are distant and warped—probably because he was drinking at the time because, if he remembers correctly, it was somewhere in the time period of the leviathans.

Needless to say, that was a bad time for him.

He says to Charlie, “No, I don’t remember much. Would you recommend it?”

“Definitely. Watch it after _Star Trek_.”

“We need to finish _Angel_ , as well,” Cas pipes up from Dean’s other side. “Right, Dean?”

“Yeah, of course.” Dean drops his arm from Charlie’s shoulders and pulls Cas in close instead because, hey, their costumes go better together, alright?

Cas, unsurprisingly, leans into Dean’s hold, even going so far as to snake his own arm around Dean’s waist to secure them together. They both ignore Sam and Charlie’s exaggerated cutesy noises, though Cas does shift minutely when Charlie says, “Watch the ears.”

Also unsurprising is the looks their intimacy garners from the crowd of over convention-goers pushing through the building doors.

Dean’s first instinct is to pull away from Cas—PDAs aren’t really his thing, after all, especially when the other person is a _dude_ —but he gets caught up somewhere between wanting to preserve his own image, not wanting to offend Cas, and wanting to protect them both from the harsh eyes of society.

Sam obviously sees his panic, because he steps up behind him and whispers, “Dude, chill out. You’re in _Seattle_ , for crying out loud, even their _mayor_ is gay. No one cares.”

The tension drains from Dean’s limbs, and he exhales a breath he didn’t know he had been holding. Now that he looks for it, he can see that the people who stare do so innocently and even with smiles on their faces, taking in his and Cas’s positions and costumes then moving on to other things.

Right. The costumes. They aren’t _Dean and Cas_ here, they’re _Kirk and Spock_. Gay Kirk and Spock, with their friends Thor and Codex.

Maybe he doesn’t blame people for staring. They’re an eclectic bunch.

They move with the flow of the crowd up a few sets of escalators and to the entrance of the main show floor, getting the same, pleased looks from the crowd the whole way. Charlie picked up a program from god-knows-where and scours through it, probably committing the maps and time-schedules to memory.

Sam peeks over her shoulder sporadically, and eventually jabs a finger at something he sees. “There’s a costume contest?” he asks excitedly, looking to Charlie for a rather-unnecessary confirmation. “How do I sign up?”

“I can help you,” Charlie says, right as they reach the first of the vendor booths. She steps over to a vacant patch of wall to continue examining the program without disturbing the flow of traffic. She raises an eyebrow at Sam before looking back down at the costume contest details. “Do you really want to do it? Not that you can’t, of course! But you really want to?”

Sam smirks and holds out Mjölnir. “Hey Charlie, can you hold this for me?”

Caught up in the program, Charlie blindly reaches for the handle.

Cas sucks in a breath, seeing what is about to happen. “Charlie—”

As soon as her hand is around the handle, Sam releases his own hold on the hammer and Charlie is yanked to the ground. She kneels on the ground next to the hammer and rubs at the shoulder of the arm that had held it. “Oh, jeez! Millen, what the hell, man?”

Sam shrugs, wearing what Dean will only describe as a shit-eating grin. “Just wanted to remind you. I think I have the costume contest in the bag, by the way.”

Charlie clambers to her feet, glaring at Sam hard enough that Dean is surprised he hasn’t actually caught flame. “That was low, dude. I didn’t want to actually _touch_ the thing! I didn’t want to test your stupid theory!”

The realization hits Dean in the same moment that he sees it hit Sam, unadulterated regret spreading across his face. Any stranger he pulls the same trick on will think it nothing more than some clever engineering, but the four of them know the truth.

In hindsight, Dean realizes that’s why _he_ didn’t want to touch it, either.

In an attempt to make the situation lighter, Dean says, “You know, it probably only works for Sam because Loki’s got the hots for him.”

Cas and Charlie both frown and say, “What?” at the same time that Sam blushes and says, “Fuck off, Dean.”

Dean grins at his brother. “You know there was _something_ weird there, man. That asshat always liked you _way_ more than he liked me.”

Cas steps out from under Dean’s arm and looks up at him with narrowed eyes. “You know Loki?” he asks.

Dean’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise. “We never told you?” He looks to Sam. “I thought we told him. Did we not?”

“Obviously not,” Sam says with a shrug. “Loki was Gabriel, Cas. When he skipped out of Heaven, he joined the pagans. If there was a Loki other than Gabriel, he’s long gone.”

“Oh.” Cas frowns. “You told me Gabriel died, but you did not tell me Loki was one of his identities.”

Charlie laughs suddenly, redrawing their attention. “That’s right!” she says brightly, looking at Sam. “I remember that from when I read the _Supernatural_ books! I thought it was kind of weird.” She shrugs. “Whatever. I ship it.”

“Oh god,” Sam groans. “Please don’t.”

“Alright,” Dean says, satisfied with the upswing in conversation, “what’s the plan from here? Are we sticking together, or what?”

“Sam and I will probably look into the costume contest thing,” Charlie replies. “You two can just walk around and look adorable if you want, maybe hit a few panels. Take this.” She hands Cas her program. “Call me if you need anything.” She grabs ahold of Sam—who resists only long enough to retrieve his hammer from where it still sits on the floor—and they disappear into the maze of the show floor without a backwards glance.

“Fuck,” Dean sighs when he loses sight of them. “I’m getting real tired of their shit.” He turns to Cas, who is already deeply invested in the convention program, and rolls his eyes affectionately. “Find anything good, angel?”

“There is a _Supernatural_ fan panel in forty minutes.”

“Ew.” Dean wrinkles his nose. “No thanks. I don’t need to listen to a bunch of Becky-Rosen types talk about our _latent homosexuality_ and _emotional problems_. I’ve had enough of that to last a lifetime.”

“I don’t know,” Cas says slowly, his blue eyes shining with mirth when he meets Dean’s gaze. “It might be interesting.”

Dean stares back, completely unamused. “Pass.”

Cas grins, but turns back to the program without further argument. “How about… Hayley Atwell? Charlie mentioned her, did she not? Who is she?”

Dean pulls the program closer to take a glance at the photo accompanying the name. “That’s Peggy Carter, dude! From _Captain America_? You have to recognize her, I know you saw those movies!”

Cas nods. “Yes. I recognized her, but I had trouble placing her.” He frowns in consideration. “I dislike the limitations of human memory.”

Dean smiles tightly and claps a hand against the back of Cas’s shoulder, resting it there. “Welcome to the club, Cas. What time is Hayley Atwell’s panel?”

“Two. Should we just look around the show floor until then?”

Before Dean can respond, two teenage girls—dressed as S.H.I.E.L.D. agents—approach them, clutching their cellphones to their chests and practically radiating nervousness.

“Excuse me?” the taller of the two says. “Would you guys mind if we take your picture? Your costumes are great.”

Cas looks to Dean for an answer, confusion plain on his face.

Dean shrugs minutely as if to say, _Why the hell not?_ He says to the girls, “Sure. How do you want us?”

It is the shorter girl who speaks next. “Are you two together?” she asks. “Like, a couple?”

Cas inches closer to Dean. “Yes. Does that matter?”

The girl’s eyes go wide and she flails her arms, clearly worried she offended them. “No, no! I didn’t mean it like that. I—We—” She reaches for the other girl and laces their fingers together. “No judging, promise. But, uh, if you’re together, can you pose for us? Like, put your arms around each other or something? Only if you’re okay with that, because I mean, you don’t have to—”

Her girlfriend silences her with a sharp elbow to the side. “Sorry about her. But seriously, can we take your picture? You guys are adorable.”

“I suppose…” Cas says, although he still doesn’t sound convinced. He presses his body against Dean’s and puts his arm around his waist as he had earlier, and it is only natural for Dean to put his arm over his shoulders again.

Dean smiles slightly for the picture—he’s supposed to be Jim Kirk, after all, he doesn’t have to be overdramatic about it—but he can’t see Cas’s face to know if he did the same. Regardless, the girls snap a picture, thank them for their time, then vanish, practically from thin air.

And this is why Dean doesn’t usually hang out with the masses.

Cas must be thinking along similar lines, because he says to Dean, “I don’t think I’ll ever fully understand humans.”

Dean laughs and pulls Cas in the direction of the nearest booth, their arms still around each other. “Me neither, angel.”

~

Castiel meant it when he said he doesn’t think he will ever understand humans, and the more he and Dean walk around, the more true it becomes.

Within the next hour, at least a dozen more people ask to take pictures of them, and countless more do so without asking—either when they think Dean and Castiel are not looking, or while they are already posing for a requested photo op. For the most part Castiel doesn’t mind the attention, but it wears on his patience.

Additionally, the vendor booths are odd. Many of them are talented, yet unknown artists creating pieces based on their favorite fictional works. It’s an admirable level of devotion and a fascinating practice…

And then they reach a booth filled entirely with drawings of cats in costumes.

“Dean,” Castiel says, pulling Dean to a stop alongside him. “Can we look at this one?”

Dean glances at the booth and its offerings, his lips curving into an affectionate smile. “If you want to.”

Castiel drifts closer to better inspect the artwork, and is pleased to find that he can identify several of the cat-ified characters, both in the singe-character drawings and the drawings with duos and trios. He particularly likes the Captain America and Winter Soldier duo, and the Kirk and Spock one, and—

Is that him and Dean?

Situated in the bottom corner of the display wall is a print with a black cat with blue eyes and a familiar blue-tie-and-trench-coat combination, standing above a light-brown cat wearing a horned amulet and sporting a paw-print scar emblazoned on its shoulder, just as human Dean’s is.

Castiel may have joked with Dean about attending a fan meeting oriented around Chuck Shurley’s prophecies, but actually _seeing_ what those fans produce is an entirely different thing. It makes him feel… odd. Appreciated, yes, but also strange because people _know_ about him, the Winchesters, and everything they have gone through over the years, and believe it to be _fiction_.

It doesn’t take Dean long to spot the print. “Son of a bitch,” he says quietly. “Is that what I think it is?”

“It would appear so.”

Just then, a young woman with curly, bubble-gum pink hair appears from behind the wall of art, eating from a steaming bowl of ramen. She starts in surprise when she sees them standing at her table—which is a fair reaction, considering Castiel is at least a foot taller than her, and they’re bound to look intimidating—and nearly drops her bowl, but she recovers quickly and sets it aside.

“Hey guys!” she says brightly. “Anything I can help you with?”

Castiel smiles politely in return. “Are you the artist?” he asks.

“Sure am! I’m Mindy, pleasure to meet you. Do you have any questions, or maybe are there any pieces you want to see more closely?”

Castiel doesn’t hesitate to point to the print that caught their attention. “Is that one based on the _Supernatural_ books?”

Mindy’s eyebrows shoot up and she nods slowly. “Uh, yeah. Yeah, it is.” She ducks down beneath the table for a brief second and returns with a copy of the artwork, which she sets on the table for Dean and Castiel to see. “You know, not very many people know what this one is. Are you guys fans?”

“Not a word I would use,” Dean snorts.

Castiel elbows him in the side and forces a smile. He says to Mindy, “Ignore him. Yes, we’re fans. The biggest, actually. I take it you are a fan as well?”

Mindy brightens immediately. “Yeah, I am! I’ve been a fan since Edlund since he first started publishing. I don’t often meet a lot of other fans, though, even at cons.” She taps her finger against the corner of the print, a shy smile spreading across her face. “I have a huge soft spot for Destiel.”

Castiel frowns. “What is that?”

“It’s a mix of _Dean_ and _Castiel_ ,” she says with a shrug. “It’s their couple name. A lot of readers agree that they’re in love with each other but are too emotionally constipated to admit it, and have been since the beginning. There’s a lot of evidence for it, actually. I tried to convey that in this piece. Y’know. With cats.”

In all honesty, Castiel knows it is true. He was lost on Dean Winchester the moment he found him in Hell, and everyone had known it. And in the time since their relationship became intimate, Dean has assured Castiel on more than one occasion that he had already loved him, probably had for years—not that he liked to admit it, even to himself.

Behind Castiel, Dean is, as to be expected, practically radiating discomfort, shifting from foot to foot and rubbing the back of his neck as he is prone to do. Castiel can hear the soft rustling of his clothes and the slide of skin, and Castiel doesn’t need to turn to know beyond the shadow of a doubt that he’s blushing bright red.

It only fuels Castiel more.

“I would like to purchase a copy. How much?”

“W-what?” Dean splutters, putting a hand on Castiel’s shoulder and forcing him to face him. “You can’t be serious, man. What are you even going to do with a drawing of u—of cats. What are you going to with a drawing of cats?”

Castiel fights to contain his smile. “I’m going to frame it and put it in our bedroom, of course,” he says, putting as much mock-innocence behind the words as he can muster. It is more than worth it to see Dean’s eyes bug out of his head in disbelief.

“We are _not_ putting that in our bedroom. Fuck no.”

“Dean, you’re being rude.”

“ _No_ , Cas.”

Mindy clears her throat pointedly, and Castiel turns to see she has rolled the print up with a rubber band, ready for purchase. She eyes them both with a degree of suspicion. “Are your names really Dean and Cas?”

“Yes,” Castiel replies, which earns him a stepped-on foot.

“It’s short for Casper,” Dean is quick to add. “Not Castiel. That would be crazy, right?”

Mindy looks rather unconvinced—whether at Castiel’s answer or Dean’s addendum is impossible to say—but she shakes it off easily. She smiles and says, “Either way, you’re great together—even if you fight like an old married couple. You still want the print?”

Castiel nods. “Yes, please. Dean, may I have your wallet?”

Dean scowls, but hands Castiel his wallet without argument.

Castiel leans in to give him a quick peck on the cheek. “Thank you, Dean.”

“Yeah, whatever.”

**Author's Note:**

> I'm on tumblr!  
> <http://thursdays-fallen-angel.tumblr.com>
> 
> Have a prompt you want to see? Message me!


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